Melodies and Harmonies
by Shyion
Summary: He played the guitar, and she played the piano.


"_Have you ever thought, about composing music?"_

Passer-bys stared with adhesive eyes at the albino teenager who was sitting outside the gates of a house. The house had two, big glass windows, and a small garden in front of it. It was painted the colour of caramel, and from the house, the sound of a piano could be heard clearly. Note by note, the pianist delivered the harmony. The teenager sat there, his head leaned against the gates. He held a guitar in his hands and stared at the big tree in front of him at the opposite of the road. Two lovebirds were cuddling up to each other, both a bright turquoise, so they looked like a ball of turquoise fluff. Suddenly, his red crimson eyes blinked and a wide grin spread slowly across his face. He took out a piece of paper from his bag, which laid beside him, took a pencil from behind his ear, and started to scribble down guitar chords and some notes on the paper. After a few minutes, he grinned a triumphant grin. He then looked into one of the big windows of the house, where a grand piano was, with the small figure of a girl sitting in front of it, her fingers moving smoothly over the notes. He seemed to be waiting for the right time, then, as the melody slowly moved into a crescendo, the boy started strumming his guitar. Following what he had written, he strummed, his fingers sliding across his guitar. More passer-bys stopped to stare as he played his music, which seemed to be an accompaniment to the melody of the piano. Then when the music finished, he stood up, gathered his things and left, as if nothing had ever happened.

_"Have you ever thought, about how much love there is in this world?"_

Laying her fingers on the keys, she inhaled, exhaled, and her fingers started moving on instinct after she struck the first note on the key. Her brown hair was swayed by the wind which blew through, and she looked out, her fingers still moving on the keys, looking for the figure of the stranger who would sometimes strum his, or her, guitar along with her playing. She never saw him, because she couldn't see. No matter how bright her emerald eyes were, all she could see, was darkness. The world only opened up to her when she was three, when she accidentally pressed a key on the piano, and the sound of that note resonated within her mind, to her heart, to her soul. From then on, she learnt the piano with her ears, her fingers, and her soul. The world was a dark, cold, and quiet place for her. Not even a bit of warmth, or sound. The piano was the only source of happiness for her. She never smiled, she never cried, she never spoke. Nobody listened to her, nobody spoke to her, and even if there was somebody who did, she has never seen anyone who smiled at her. She poured her soul into her playing as she waited for, with anticipation, the strumming of the guitar, which would accompany the melody of her music. Without fail, the accompaniment could be heard, perfectly in sync with her music. She ended the last note, her heart filled with the familiar feeling, the feeling she assumed, of happiness.

_For once, she felt love._

* * *

><p><em>"Have you ever tried looking into the blind girl's emerald green eyes?"<em>

Music sheets in his hands, he rushed around in the corridors of the school, hoping to go back to class and scribble down more notes and chords as he thought of a melody in his head. He coughed, stifled it almost immediately as he collided with a girl. She was a head shorter than him, and she seemed very thin. Several sheets of paper dropped from her grasp and he hurriedly picked it up for her and passed it to her. He continued coughing, he knew he shouldn't have ran because of his weak body. She walked away, and he could hear her walking stick knocking against the ground. Suddenly, upon instinct, he rushed beside her, and held her arm as she walked.

"Where do you want to go?" He asked.

She seemed to hesitate, before saying, "I can manage on my own, thank you."

He stared after her as she walked away, her brown hair flowing behind her. He blinked several times.

_Her eyes were a beautiful green._

Walking slowly back to his classroom, he sat himself down at his seat and started writing down the chords, and a few notes to go along with it. Then he felt it – the sickening pain in his chest. He clutched his chest as he coughed, groping around his bag for his bottle of pills, he took two pills and the pain seemed to go away instantly. He had forgotten to take his medicine again.

After adding the final touches, he tried out his newly formed sheet of music, and submerged himself in his playing.

"Do you want to try a hand at learning the guitar?"

His father asked, once, as he saw the young boy staring at the television that was showing a man strumming the guitar. The young boy nodded tentatively, not sure about his decision. But he never regretted it, the guitar seemed to relief his medical conditions, it seemed to make all the pain go away. He had been sickly since young, spending most of his time in the hospital. He would never, _ever, _want to return to that white world, the smell of antiseptic, and those eyes of the people who stared at him – those eyes which expressed obvious pity, he didn't want people to pity him. When he was five, he witnessed the death of his father, the only person who spoke to him with love, and not pity, or disgust. The person who introduced him to the thing that was now impossible to let go of. When his father died, it was the first and last time the boy cried.

As he ended the last chord on his guitar, he remembered his father's smiling face and the last words he said, "_One day, when you become a famous guitarist, I would smile in heaven and tell God, 'that's my son'."_

He hated his aunt, whom he was staying with now. He hated her, because she always seemed to blame him for the loss of her brother, and said that he should never have bought him the guitar.

_"If that dumb brother of mine had insisted that the woman brought you with her, he wouldn't have died worrying about a burden like you."_

All he would do all day is lock himself up in the room and play his guitar, his aunt always murmuring about how much how a nuisance he was.

He hated her, but respected her still.

Her husband left her without saying a word and never came back, and she never cried. He knew she was hurting inside, but she puts on a strong front in front of they boy.

He knew she loved him, although she always spoke negatively about him.

He hated her, but loved her all the same.

He never saw his mother. His father never spoke of his mother, and his aunt only referred to her as the "woman".

Once, he found a picture in his father's drawer. His father was with a woman, a very pretty woman, sapphire eyes and blonde hair. He suspected that, _maybe, _this beautiful woman was his mother. But he was never too sure.

He never mustered any courage to ask his father about the picture. He was satisfied with living with his father.

His mother, apparently, left him with his father and disappeared.

He couldn't understand women.

He never had any friends who were girls. He just didn't know how to make friends with girls, they seemed so.. so _far away._

They always giggled if he were to walk past them. He never knew why.

Paranoia got the better of him, and he anxiously flicked his hair around, and adjusted his school uniform.

_All the more they giggled._

He never looked into their eyes. He never wanted to, because he didn't want to see any pity in them. Or disgust.

But.

But, that girl.

Her emerald green eyes.

That girl – the girl he bumped into just now, _her eyes were the same shade of green as his father's.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>"Have you ever imagined your life if you were to be able to see?"<em>

She sat alone in the music room, her heart beating quickly. She couldn't explain why her heart was beating at such a pace, and she touched her arm at the same area the boy touched her.

_His hand was so warm; his voice was as refreshing as a summer breeze._

If only she could have seen his face.

For the first time in her life, someone, besides her father, had expressed concern for her. She wanted to accept his help, but rejected it instead.

She never knew how she would be around others; what if she were to accidentally hurt the boy? What if she spoke of things sensitive to him?

She never had friends.

She didn't know what friends would talk about. The only friend she had was her piano. The friend she would pour her feelings out to, no matter happy or sad.

Her father was a rich businessman who was hardly ever home, but he still loved her. Whenever he came home, she would smile and run at the direction of his footsteps, into his loving arms.

His warm and loving arms.

She spoke, only for him.

When she was four, she heard him say to one of his friends, "_I don't mind if she will never call me Daddy; as long as she is healthy, I am satisfied."._

She felt as if she disappointed her father, because she never tried to speak. When her father entered her room where she was sitting in front of the grand piano, she ran towards his welcoming hands and said, "_I love you, Daddy."._

She could feel wet drops of water on her shoulders, and she knew, her father was crying. She attempted to wipe away his tears, but her little hands could only do that much. Then she heard her father say, "_I love you too."_.

She never knew what her father looked like, but she tried picturing his face. Judging from the feel of his face, she pictured his features bit by bit, slightly thick eyebrows, a bit of stubble, and spectacles. She imagined her father as a very handsome man, and again she thought to herself, _if only she could see._

If she could see, she would be able to play with other children, and her father needn't worry about her anymore. If she could see, her father could speak freely, because she could tell that her father would always refrain from speaking about things relating to sight.

But now, her father was away for a business trip. In Asia, she remembered. He promised to buy a few souvenirs from the country he was going to. He bought different things every time.

Once, he bought a music box, which was now sitting on the top of the table in her room.

He also bought a teddy bear, a big and fluffy teddy bear, which she hugged to sleep every night.

The thing she loved the most which he bought, was a photo frame. He even put in a family photo, before her mother died. She has never seen it, but she still treasured it the most.

What if, she asked herself, what if, one day, she could see?

Then her mind suddenly went back to the boy whom she bumped into.

He seemed fragile, as she remembered the grip of his hands on her.

His fingers were long and thin, but his hands were big.

She could tell from his voice that he was sick, but _his hands were as warm as her father's._

* * *

><p><em><span>"Because there's a harmony to every melody, so nobody would never be lonely."<span>_

He closed his eyes, listening to the familiar melody of the piano.

_It's this piece again._

It seemed that the pianist has taken a liking to this song, which the boy had written a full accompaniment throughout, and not only for specific parts of the music.

He strummed along anyway; he liked this piece too.

It was the first piece he heard from this house.

It made him feel, for once, like he belonged somewhere.

Sometimes, the pianist would stop at certain areas, and he would smirk and strum as loud as he could, _I'll do my solo, and you'll do yours too._

He never knew who the pianist was, except that she was a girl, but she was awesome.

But, from her playing, there was a sense of loneliness.

That's what brought him to sit at the gates of this house for the first time, and that's what led him to composing music, although only for accompaniments.

He remembered the cold wind blowing at him as he walked home in the rain, after his father died.

Thinking, _why. Why must he die, and leave me in this cold world._

Then, he heard the melody.

The cold and lonely melody. It hit him immediately, that there was somebody who was feeling the same as he was.

He scrutinized at the big window, and saw a girl, sitting in front of the grand piano, in a room which was so big, so big, but near empty. Except for the bed, and table.

So he sat down at the gates of the house, under the rain, and after that, it became a habit that he went there everyday after school.

He played along to all the melodies, trying his best to compose accompaniments.

_So she wouldn't feel lonely._

But he convinced himself at the same time, it was because he didn't want to feel lonely either.

So he strummed along, like how he usually does.

While strumming, he thought about just ringing the doorbell once.

He decided against it, anyway. It was just ridiculous.

Without her consent, he strummed in a way that he would be the harmony to her melody.

He even promised himself to come here everyday.

_So she wouldn't be lonely._

_"Plants, without light, would never grow."_

Just like every other day after school, she immediately went back to her room.

She hummed all the music she played over the days, and she decided on the piece that the guitarist would be able to play the full accompaniment, prolly because - she assumed, that this was the first piece he heard.

She had played it many times before, but only realised how much more beautiful it would be with the guitar accompaniment.

Sometimes, the accompaniment would stop for awhile.

Maybe he skipped a note by accident, maybe he was amending it.

She remembered how it started off though - when the accompaniment was first heard.

It was a sudden sound that perked her ears.

While she was playing the piano, she heard the sound of a guitar.

It came as bits and pieces at first, as if the guitarist was improvising on the accompaniment.

After several weeks of playing the piece of music, the guitarist was able to play it fluently.

When he was familiarised with that particular piece, she played other pieces.

Slowly, he was able to improvise better and compose better accompaniments.

Sometimes she would just stop for him to think, sometimes he would stop for her if she had a slip of the finger.

Just like how plants needed light - they needed each other.

Sometimes, the guitarist would come late, and she wouldn't start without him, and sometimes it seemed that he wouldn't start without her either.

She was late once, that day she took a bit too long with her lunch, and could hear different chords being played, practice, she presumed.

When she started her first note, the strumming stopped and all was quiet.

Slowly, the guitarist figured the piece she was playing and strummed along.

The particular piece which she played until the guitarist could strum along for the whole song, was the very first piece she had heard him playing in.

It was after that cold, rainy day that he noticed him.

She was so lonely at home, her father was somewhere in Australia then, away on a business trip.

The next day, she played that song again, then she heard a few out of tune strums of the guitar.

At first, she thought she had heard wrongly.

But then, the occasional annoyed click of the groan after more out of tune strumming which was heard affirmed the existence of this new guitarist.

Since then on, he seemed to be there everyday, playing along with her.

Sometimes she would stop, to give him a solo - she couldn't always be the melody.

Somehow, he knew that it given to him, so he did not stop for her. He continued strumming until she joined in again.

"Why are you smiling? Who made you happy today? I have to thank that person for allowing me to see my daughter's beautiful smile."

She turned towards the direction of the voice, "Daddy? No, I wasn't.. Was I? I-"

It appears that she was unconsciously, smiling, at the mere memory of how this - bond formed.

"Is it the boy who plays the guitar outside our house? Should I invite him next time?"

Her smile dissolved.

"So the guitarist is a boy?" She asked. "How does he look like?"

"Ruby red eyes, silver hair... Quite tall and thin, too." He chuckled. "His eyes are a gentle red, not really like those demonic ones."

"Inviting him here would be nice." She smiled.

* * *

><p><em>"Would you stand up for a stranger?"<em>

"Hey look, it's her again."

He turned, wondering who would be the next victim to be bullied by the popular group of boys in school.

"Quite a pretty one, huh? Green eyes and brown hair."

He saw one of them, big sized and bulky, approaching her - that girl he bumped into.

"Hey, would you like to go out with me?" He waved a hand in front of her face.

She walked past him.

"Hey, I asked whether you would like to go out with me!" The boy shouted at her.

His red eyes narrowed as he observed the boy slowly walking behind her.

He heard one of the boys in the group whisper, "I think he's quite pissed."

"I'll beat him up if he does anything to her. Anything." The boy's fist clenched, his nails digging deep into his skin.

"Nobody rejects me. Nobody. You're going to regret, walking past me as if I wasn't there." The bulky boy murmured before quickening his pace and slamming the girl into a wall.

He stared into her eyes, and realised she had no reaction. He waved his hand in front of her, but her eyes did not respond.

"So you're the blind girl everyone's been talking about." He smirked.

"Quite wasted for such a pretty face you got there." He traced her chin with his fat index finger.

She calmly whispered, "Don't pity me."

"You're quite arrogant for a blind girl like you." He raised his clenched fist, ready to just punch the wall to scare her.

"What did she do to you? She didn't do anything wrong, what's your problem?"

The bulky boy turned his head towards the direction where that voice came from, and burst out laughing.

"A thin boy like you, attempting to take me on?"

The girl just stared and bit her lip.

It's him.

"I don't care how fat you are compared to me! Just let her go!" He ran towards the boy, pushing him away from the girl. "Run!"

Aiming a kick at his shin, he ran after the fat boy collapsed on the ground, holding his leg.

He pulled the girl along with him, and ran to a room where his guitar was.

"Are you hurt?" She asked him.

"I'm fine. I've some experience in.. fighting."

She could tell from his voice that he was kind of... shy?

"Could you listen to something for me?" He went to the other end and grabbed his guitar which was leaning against the wall.

After strumming a few notes as warm-up, he started.

And then.

Her heart skipped a beat.

It's him. 

* * *

><p>Should I continue this ? I'm not sure if you guys would find it boring. So i'll make a decision later (: I'm not very sure whether I should continue this or not...<p> 


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